


I Like the Smell of Me on You

by mymishaandjensenfic (ljunattainable)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/mymishaandjensenfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha looks good in Jensen's shirts. Jensen may have a bit of a thing about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like the Smell of Me on You

The first time Jensen gave Misha one of his shirts, it was one he’d bought in a rush, in a store he didn’t usually go to, made by a company he’d never heard of before, and he’d just assumed it would fit. It didn’t. The seam rubbed uncomfortably at a point on his side, just above his right hip bone because apparently his waist wasn’t where the shirt manufacturer thought his waist should be. Misha, on the other hand, had a waist that was exactly where the shirt manufacturer thought it should be. The fact that Misha looked so good in the black and white check as it stretched over his shoulders and across his chest that it had a surprisingly positive, and not unwelcome, affect on Jensen’s dick was just a bonus.

The second time Jensen gave Misha one of his shirts, it fit Jensen perfectly. He just thought it would fit Misha better. So he wore it once, to show willing, then that evening he took it off and threw it across their room with a casual, “It doesn’t fit me. Do you want it?” 

Misha caught the shirt easily in his fist, then he’d put it on over his t-shirt, patting out the creases with big hands that coasted up and down his torso in a way Jensen assumed wasn’t supposed to be quite as sexy as he found it to be. After all, it’s only Jensen that has a Misha-in-Jensen’s shirts fetish.

After that, Jensen started buying shirts specifically to give to Misha. He’d wear them once, sometimes blatantly at a convention if he was feeling particularly brazen, sometimes just around family or friends or co-workers. Always around Misha. It was important Misha saw him wearing the shirt. It was important the shirt smelt of Jensen when he put it in Misha’s hands. It was important it was still warm from Jensen’s body when Misha tried it on. 

This is why it becomes a problem for Jensen when Misha stops putting the shirts on as soon as Jensen gives them to him. He might roll the shirt up, tucking it into his bag, or drape it over the back of a handy chair, or as on one particularly horrible occasion, throw it straight into the laundry basket. 

Jensen sometimes sees Misha wearing those shirts days, weeks, or even months later, which pleases him, but it only provides watered-down fantasy material compared to having Misha in the shirt, literally fresh off Jensen’s back, Misha’s heat and smell mingling with Jensen’s heat and smell. 

In fact, he’s kind of thinking, under the circumstances, that he’s not going to give Misha the green checked shirt that he bought for him last week and has just finished wearing for a panel. 

He’s still wearing it, buttons undone, undecided, when Misha comes out of the shower, fluffy white towel around his hips contrasting starkly with the pink flush on his chest from too-hot water. He looks delicious and Jensen’s dick shows a bit of interest. 

And here’s the thing. Jensen and Misha are a thing. Jensen could take Misha now, pull him onto the bed, completely naked, and fuck him until he makes that plaintive little mewling sound that he makes just before he comes. Jensen can have Misha any time he wants, within the bounds of decency, obviously. He can see him naked from head to toe. He can tease with his tongue at the little scars on Misha’s body from one stupid bike accident after another. He can stroke his hands up Misha’s chest and bite, and lick and suck at his nipples. He can pull apart the cheeks of his ass to finger and lick at the most intimate parts of him. He can see all of him, laid bare and it’s good, really good.

But it’s a different sort of good, seeing Misha wearing one of his shirts, so flustered and warm as he now is, Jensen slips off the green check shirt. “Here, this is for you,” he says, his voice an octave deeper than usual.

Misha stops drying his hair and catches the shirt. “Thanks.” He turns around to where his bag is resting on the luggage rack.

“No,” Jensen croaks. He clears his throat. “Put it on.”

Misha tilts his head to look curiously at Jensen, before his face lights up in sudden, all-too-obvious understanding, and he flashes a mischievous grin. “You know I’ve just had a shower, and this shirt still smells like you?”

“I know,” Jensen says.

“It’s still warm, too,” Misha continues, holding the shirt up to his cheek. Jensen groans. Misha can be such a dick sometimes. 

Then Misha locks eyes with Jensen and slides the shirt slowly up one arm, a striptease in reverse, while Jensen holds his breath, hoping that the real thing will live up to the wet dreams and horny imaginings.

It turns out it’s better. It turns out that mouthing at Misha’s nipples through wet cloth chaffs against the sensitive skin and makes Misha groan and squirm in an entirely good way. It turns out that Jensen can hold on to the sides of the shirt for leverage and get some really interesting angles as he thrusts his dick into Misha as far as it will go. It turns out that pulling the shirt over Misha’s head, pinning his arms, means that Jensen gets to suck him off with gusto and without the usual scrabbling of fingertips raking through his hair. Not that he minds that, of course, it’s just different. Good different.

Best of all it turns out that Misha likes wearing the shirt afterwards, wandering around doing his day job, smelling of Jensen, Misha and sex.


End file.
